


Worth the Risk

by infiniteeight



Series: Worth the Risk [1]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: First Date, First Kiss, M/M, Romance, don't bet against brandt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4850591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team thinks Hunley is an asshole. Brandt disagrees. Obviously the only way to settle this is with a bet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth the Risk

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pairing so rare that I don't really have much hope I can drag anyone else into it, but I have to try. I have a longer, more involved story in progress, but I wanted to finish something while the movie was in theatres to maximize my chances at the aforementioned dragging, so have what I hope is cute date fic. *fingers crossed*
> 
> Also, Ilsa changed her mind about being done with the intelligence community and went to work for the IMF instead, because Ilsa is awesome even if she only shows up for about two lines in this particular fic.
> 
> Not betaed, please forgive any typos or plot holes; I wanted to get this up quickly.

Brandt glanced around the bar, smiling when he found his team. They were sprawled in a booth in the far corner, drinks already in front of them, though the levels hadn’t dropped much. Brandt crossed the room and slid into the spot that had been left next to Benji. “Please tell me this is the first round,” he said in greeting, grinning at them.

Ethan smirked. “Guess you’ll just have to join us and catch up.” 

Brandt snorted and half turned to catch the eye of their server. “I’m only going to fall for that once,” he said, turning back as she came over. He paused to order a beer. “A lightweight like me has to know his limits.”

“Can I just say that I love that I’m not the lightweight?” Benji said, raising his beer, and the rest of them laughed. 

“Downside is,” Luther weighed in, “it’s a lot more expensive for us heavyweights to get drunk.”

“Depends on who’s buying the rounds,” Ilsa said, quirking an eyebrow.

They laughed again, and Brandt’s beer arrived in the midst of it. He nodded his thanks to the server and raised the bottle to the group. “To another successful mission.”

The others chorused their agreement and clinked bottles before drinking. As the conversation went on--and the number of empty bottles went up--Brandt felt his muscles unwinding and the sharp edges of his vision dulling. The control room might not be stressful in the same way that being directly in the field was stressful, but it had it’s own unique strain. 

Still, when the conversation turned to mission-critical feats of willpower, Brandt laughed and deferred the field to Ethan. “Jumping into a rapidly overheating computer core notwithstanding,” he said, ignoring Benji’s ‘I caught you, didn’t I?’, “I think Ethan takes first, second, and third place there. On any given mission.”

Ethan laughed, and when the others all agreed, started shaking his head. “No, no, no. The ultimate feat of mission-critical willpower goes to Brandt,” he said. 

“You’ve lost me,” Brandt said.

“Me too,” Luther confessed. 

“Share with the class, Ethan,” Ilsa prompted.

“Every single mission,” Ethan began, then paused until they yelled at him. He went on, grinning. “Every single mission, Brandt has to deal with Hunley.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Benji said. Luther nodded, raising his own bottle to his lips, and Ilsa shook her head wryly, but didn’t actually disagree.

Brandt shook his head, too. “Guys, he’s really not difficult to work with. I get that we had a pretty terrible introduction to the man, but he’s done right by us since then.”

“That doesn’t stop him from being an asshole,” Benji said, and yeah, his buzz had definitely reached the overly honest stage. Except that he was wrong.

“He’s _not_ , though,” Brandt pushed on.

“He put a kill order on me,” Ethan said.

Benji snickered. “That doesn’t make him a bad person.”

Ethan rolled his eyes at Benji, which meant there had to be an in joke there, so Brandt ignored the comment. “Yeah,” he acknowledged instead, “and do you know how far past protocol it was to wait _six months_ to put a kill order on an active rogue agent? I do; I was there when the Director of National Security was giving him shit for it. He wanted to bring you in, but you ran him out of options.”

“And that doesn’t make him a _good_ person,” Luther pointed out.

Brandt shrugged. “Fair enough. I’m just saying, who at this table has spent more than five minutes in a room with the man? Maybe don’t talk shit about him if you don’t even know him.”

“Or maybe,” Ethan said slyly, “you could put your money where your mouth is.”

Everyone at the table perked up; there was something of the gambler in most intelligence agents. Brandt raised his eyebrows. “Elaborate, please.”

“Take Hunley out for dinner,” Ethan challenged. “Not a working dinner, a social one. If time flies, you win. If it requires willpower to get through, we win.”

“And what are we betting for?”

“Pride?” Ilsa suggested.

Brandt snorted. “Try again.”

Ethan tilted his head. “If we win, you go skydiving with me.” Brandt hid a wince; Ethan was suggesting that specifically because he knew Brandt had been uncomfortable with heights since jumping into that computer core. Not fearful, exactly, but… hesitant.

“And to the movies with me.” Benji had terrible taste in movies and was constantly having to rope one of them into keeping him company.

Brandt looked at Ilsa. “You come with me the next time I go dancing,” she said, “and fend off anyone who hits on me.”

“Luther?” Brandt said, turning to the last member of the group.

Luther considered. “You’re just gonna have to owe me a favor,” he said at length.

“All right,” Brandt said easily.

“You’re not going to negotiate?” Benji asked, surprised. “I mean, that’s _four_ forfeits, one of them unspecified.”

Brandt just smiled. “It doesn’t matter; I’m not going to have to do them.”

“Maybe a bit over-confident there,” Luther rumbled.

“You tell yourself that. For your forfeits, if I win, each of you,” Brandt pointed around the table at them, “has to take one of my next four classes with the recruits.” They all groaned and Brandt raised his eyebrows. “You sure you want to make this bet? I mean, I’m willing to do four forfeits and you don’t even want to take on one? Maybe you should give in now.”

The four of them exchanged a glance. “No, we’re still on,” Ethan said. 

“Hang on,” Luther said. “How do we know who’s won? Can’t exactly measure if Brandt had a good time.”

“Depends on how good a time it was,” Ilsa said slyly.

“We could listen in,” Benji suggested.

“No, no, no,” Brandt said. “It’ll skew the results if I’m self-conscious. You’re just going to have to take my word for it.”

“If at any point in the future we find out you weren’t honest about it,” Ethan said, “you owe us each two forfeits instead of one. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

***

At six the next evening, Brandt packed up his things and headed down the hall to the Secretary’s office. Hunley’s assistant was gone, but Hunley himself was still at his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose, examining the contents of a folder intently. Brandt knocked his knuckles against the doorframe and Hunley looked up. “I’m headed out to get some dinner,” Brandt said casually. “Want to come along?”

Hunley hesitated and Brandt realized he wasn’t sure which way the bet would go if _Hunley_ didn’t want to spend time with _Brandt_. “If we go out to dinner,” Hunley said eventually, “a number of people will assume it’s a date.”

Given that Hunley was openly gay and Brandt was bisexual, that was entirely possible. Brandt shrugged. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

Hunley gave him a long look, but took off his reading glasses and set the file aside. “All right. Did you have a place in mind?”

Brandt had been going to suggest the little cafe just down the block where he often got lunch, but that suddenly seemed… cheap. “Not really. You?”

“I know a place,” Hunley said, smiling.

They ended up at an upscale pizza parlor, and Brandt had never thought that those words would go together, but here he was. There were booths with plush dark leather seats and dark finished wooden tables and a floor done in tiny black and white tiles. The hostess greeted Hunley by name and cast Brandt a curious look, but didn’t ask.

When they had water and drinks on the way--a beer for Brandt, white sangria for Hunley--Brandt gave into his curiosity. “How did you find this place?”

“Pizza is my great weakness,” Hunley said, mouth tilting up at the corner. “I wish I could say that I’ve visited every place in the city that serves it, but that might be beyond even my ambitions. I do try, though. The pizza here isn’t the best in the city, but they have better drinks, and I don’t like going to the _best_ place when I’m wearing a suit.”

“Which means you make it there once a month, I’m guessing,” Brandt said wryly. Hunley worked hours just as long as his, if not longer, and suits were the rule at the office.

“If that,” Hunley agreed, but he didn’t seem to regret it much.

“So does that mean that delivery is anathema?” Brandt flipped open the menu. The options were a little artsier than he was used to, but some of them did look intriguing.

Hunley hadn’t even opened the menu. “Oh, no,” he said. “I love just about all types of pizza. You’re not going to get subtlety from the big chains, but you _do_ get familiarity. Besides, a lot of smaller places deliver, too.”

“Blue cheese, arugula, pear, Walnuts, caramelized onion, balsamic glaze,” Brandt read off the menu. He laughed, looking up at Hunley. “I think I’ve had that… as a salad.”

“We don’t have to stay,” Hunley offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Brandt assured him. “I was just amused. The artichoke pizza looks really good.”

“Not my usual, but it is worth having,” Hunley said.

“What’s your usual?” 

“The Five-O.” A startled laugh burst out of Brandt, and Hunley grinned at him. “You were expecting something more refined, weren’t you?”

Considering that the Five-O was a glorified Hawaiian pizza, he really had been. “Just tell me you order it at least partly for the reference.”

Hunley arched an eyebrow. “Jack Lord or Alex O'Loughlin?”

Brandt considered. “That’s not actually an entirely fair question,” he said. “The original series was very much focused around Lord’s McGarrett. The remake, on the other hand, is an ensemble show, which ties O’Loughlin’s strengths firmly to his co-stars.”

“The answer of a true diplomat,” Hunley teased.

“No, just an analyst, seeing all the angles.” Brandt paused as their waitress came by with their drinks. “Which is your favorite?”

“The new one,” Hunley said promptly, a little to Brandt’s surprise. Hunley must have caught it, because he smiled wryly. “I like team players more than stand-out stars.”

“No wonder Ethan drives you crazy,” Brandt said without thinking, then flushed. 

Hunley just chuckled. “Given what I know of Hunt’s history, he’s actually improved in that regard. But yes, his tendency to leap into situations without regard for how it will impact those he leaves behind--and those he drags with him--was one significant reason I felt he was more likely a threat than an asset.”

Remembering the crisis of confidence and long, sleepless nights after Croatia, Brandt couldn’t quite voice the defense that sprang to his lips. But, “When he makes that call, it always turns out to be worth it, in the end.”

“So I’ve learned,” Hunley agree, surprising Brandt again. “But that doesn’t mean I like him any better.”

Brandt snorted. “The sentiment is mutual.”

“I’m rather surprised it’s not one you share,” Hunley said carefully, and sipped his drink, eyes steady on Brandt.

Brandt took a moment to think about his reply. “I’ve always been the type to think things through,” he said eventually, “to play out scenarios in my mind and make carefully judged decisions. I think that makes me hard to relate to, for a lot of people, and others find the pace at which I move frustrating.” He shrugged. “Everything you’ve done has followed logically from what you know and what you value, even when you get emotional. I appreciate that. And you don’t seem to have a problem giving me time to get where I’m going.”

Their waitress returned, then, and the two of them gave her their orders.

"I like that you act with deliberation," Hunley said when she had gone, "but, then, I tend to operate on a cost versus benefit basis, and quick decisions are usually costly ones."

"I'm guessing that doesn't make you hugely popular, either," Brandt said.

"No, but one high quality friend is worth more than several low quality ones." They shared a grin. “On the other hand,” Hunley went on, his grin fading, “it has made finding a romantic partner exceptionally difficult.”

“I would have thought being a gay man in the intelligence community would have been a bigger hurdle to clear,” Brandt said curiously. “I can’t tell you the number of times a guy backed off when I mentioned my job.” 

Hunley leaned forward a bit. “I find it helps if you manage to work in your rank and your openness early in the conversation,” he said. “It reassures them that they won’t be dealing with any more work related orientation bullshit than most.” 

“They didn’t find it intimidating to go out with the Director of the CIA?” Brandt asked; the IMF was lesser known, and probably wouldn’t have the same impact.

“Some do,” Hunley acknowledged. “Some find the idea exciting. Either way, I don’t generally have a difficult time securing a first date.” His expression turned wry. “A second, on the other hand…”

Brandt winced sympathetically. “I can’t even seem to make it to the first date,” he offered. “You can only reschedule because of work so many times before they decline to try again.”

“That would be preferable to some of my first dates,” Hunley said. “God knows why anyone would think that that’s an appropriate venue to spend three hours describing in excruciating detail the challenges in caring for their elderly mother.”

“It could have been worse. He could have brought her with him.”

“Maybe she would have been a better conversationalist.”

Brandt chuckled. “To be fair, if he spends that much time caring for her, he probably doesn’t have much else to talk about.”

“There’s always something else to talk about,” Hunley disagreed. “The news. A book you’ve read. A book you _want_ to read. Food. A weird dream. One of those Facebook games that my assistant is constantly pretending he doesn’t have open in another tab.”

“Candy Crush?” Brandt guessed.

“Something with dinosaurs,” Hunley said. “At least, that’s the main one.”

“Probably Jurassic Park Builder.” At Hunley’s look, Brandt shook his head quickly. “Oh, no. Not me. My analysts. They were tabbing in and out of games so frequently I had to hold a staff meeting.”

Hunley laughed. “And you’ve never indulged a personal hobby at work?”

“Should I be telling my boss this?” Brandt asked, arching his eyebrows.

“Didn’t I just say I let my assistant get away with playing Facebook games?” Hunley said, smiling.

“So you did. My hobbies don’t generally conflict with work,” Brandt thought of the rare late night international meeting that he’d put on a ten minute break so that he could go up to the roof and watch a meteor shower go by, “but maybe once or twice. You?”

“Maybe once or twice,” Hunley agreed, but he didn’t give any more details than Brandt had. Brandt could understand why; with a job that took over as much of your life as theirs did, personal things became something to be protected. 

Their food arrived, and the conversation moved on. For all his difficulties with first dates, Hunley wasn’t difficult to talk to. He was straightforward in his speech, even blunt. “I can talk in circles if I need to,” he explained, “but it’s a waste of time otherwise.” It was a conversational style that could have been taken as confrontational, but Brandt had seen Hunley confrontational, and this wasn’t it. Nor did he seem to mind waiting for Brandt to put his thoughts together or to build to a point, never interrupting or breaking into pauses to redirect the conversation. 

That patience seemed at odds with his approach to entertainment: Hunley had seen the first twenty minutes of every movie and two to three episodes of every tv show that Brandt could name, and quite a few that he couldn’t, but didn’t hesitate to abandon them if they hadn’t captured his interest or sufficiently entertained him by then, even if it meant getting up and walking out of a theater. In the end, it really did all come down to cost-benefit analysis: after a certain point, he argued, sticking with entertainment that wasn’t entertaining was just throwing good time or money after bad. 

Which implied, Brandt realized, that Hunley considered Brandt’s thoughts to be worth taking time for. The thought sent a flush of warmth through Brandt, and he found himself relaxing more, shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves and ordering a second beer. As he lifted the new bottle to his lips, Brandt noticed Hunley’s eyes dropping, focused not on Brandt’s mouth or throat, but on the lines of his forearms. Brandt swallowed his sip and slowly set the bottle down, watching as Hunley’s eyes lifted. He wasn’t the slightest bit sheepish, comfortable and open with the moment of appreciation. 

Brandt thought about that even as the conversation moved on. Thought about Hunley making sure Brandt wouldn’t mind if others thought they’d been on a date. Thought about Hunley offering leave his second favorite restaurant if Brandt wanted. Thought about the way Hunley’s lips wrapped around his thumb to catch a stray smear of pizza sauce. “Would you mind,” Brandt asked the next time their conversation paused, “if I called you Alan?”

“I don’t mind at all, Will,” Alan said, smiling. 

God, that sounded good. Will huffed a laugh. “I just realized how long it’s been since someone called me by my first name,” he explained. 

“Not an uncommon hazard of the profession,” Alan said. “When my sister called me at the IMF the first time, my new assistant had to ask who she meant.”

Will shook his head. “My people do at least know what my name is, even if they don’t use it.” He paused, wondering if the question would be too personal, but given the evening so far, it seemed a small risk to take. “Older or younger sister?”

“Older,” Hunley said, his tone fond. “And I will forever be her baby brother.”

“I don’t have any siblings,” Will offered, a bit wistful. “To be honest, I’m not sure my parents even intended to have me. Not that they were neglectful, exactly, but they seemed to find the rest of life much more interesting. I think I’ve spoken to them twice in the last year.”

“I can’t imagine stepping onto any long term path--career, parenthood, whatever--without being prepared to fully invest myself in it,” Alan said. 

“A quality which I appreciate,” Will said, holding Alan’s gaze. He smiled. “Tell me about your sister.” 

Alan accepted the slight conversational redirect easily, but Alan’s tale of competing with his sister over who could learn to swim the best fastest soon coaxed out the story of Will’s summers away at camp. Camp stories led to those nights Will had lain out in the dark and looked up at the wash of stars in the sky, and the next thing Will knew he was pulling a pen out and drawing constellations on napkins. 

They ordered coffee after dinner, and when that was done it only made sense to leave, but Will didn’t hesitate to accept when Alan offered to drive him home, even though it wasn’t a long subway ride and Alan lived in entirely the opposite direction. It took Alan almost ten minutes to find parking reasonably close to Will’s townhouse, but Will didn’t suggest dropping him out front, because Alan wouldn’t take the time if he didn’t feel it was worth it.

Alan walked with Will from the car to his townhouse, and despite the city lights, he looked up. “Are any of those actually stars?” Alan asked, waving at the lights in the sky. 

“A few of them,” Will said. “The moon is only a crescent at the moment, which helps. The brightest objects are probably planets or aircraft, but some of those are stars.”

“I’d like it if you could show me a few more sometime.” 

Will looked over at Alan. “Saturday?” he offered. “The darker spots require a bit of a drive.”

“Saturday sounds good,” Alan said, smiling. “Work permitting, of course.”

“Of course.” They came to a stop at the steps up to Will’s door and he glanced over his shoulder at it regretfully. “This is me.”

“Just to be clear,” Alan said. “If someone asks you, tomorrow, if this was a date, what will you say?”

“Yes,” Will said. His gaze flickered to Alan’s lips. “Yes, it was.”

“In that case,” Alan murmured, and took a step closer and brought their lips together. He kissed with commitment, with the kind of certainty that made Will comfortable leaning into it. When they finally parted, Will’s lips were tingling and his face felt flushed and he couldn’t help the way he smiled. Alan was smiling, too. “Have a good night, Will,” he said.

“You too,” Will replied, and stood on his steps and waited until Alan turned the corner before heading into his apartment.

He was barely a step inside the door when his phone rang. Frowning, he fished it out of his pocket. The call display said it was Ethan; an unsecured line, of course, since they were at home. Why would Ethan… Oh. Right. Will sighed and answered the call. “How did you know when I got home?”

“Benji was tracking your personal cell,” Ethan said unrepentantly. “So? How was dinner?”

“If Benji was tracking my phone,” Will said as he moved through his apartment, dumping his keys and wallet and briefcase as he was, “then you know I stayed considerably longer than required for a polite dinner, which should answer your question just fine.”

“If you’re trying to fool us--”

Will rolled his eyes. “I had a good time, Ethan,” he interrupted. “I had a good enough time to kiss him goodnight and plan a second date.”

There was a moment of silence. “Did you say date?”

Suddenly, Will felt incredibly cheerful. “Yes, date. And I should thank you, Ethan. I might not have given Alan a chance without your little challenge. Plus those four forfeits are going to be helpful with freeing up a couple of evenings.”

“I feel like this plan may have backfired,” Ethan said. 

“Oh, come on,” Will said, sitting down on the end of his bed and tugging off his shoes, phone pinned between shoulder and ear. “If it had gone badly, I might have been less willing to handle the administrative side of missions. _That_ would have been the plan backfiring.”

Ethan was silent for a moment. “Fair enough,” he said eventually. “You really had a good time?”

Will laid back on his bed, closed his eyes, and remembered for a moment. “I really did.”

“Well.” Ethan sounded weirdly awkward. “That’s good, you deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks, Ethan.” Will paused. “That doesn’t get you out of your forfeit.”

Ethan laughed. “Night, Will.”

“Night.”

~End~


End file.
